Hobbit, Lord of the Rings Battle-Ready

**Battle-Ready**

Gimli couldn't believe he hadn't been found out yet.

First his Adad had said he was too young to go on the quest to reclaim Erebor. Then his Amad told him he was too young to go join the army and fight for their home.

"For Erebor!" someone in the marching crowd shouted, and a mighty cheer rose from every direction. Gimli lifted his axe and cheered with them.

He wasn't a child any more, he shouldn't have to be told to stay home and play. So he'd taken Adad's old armour along with Amad's extra axe, and polished them to a shine. When Dain's army went off, he put everything on and just slipped into line with the others. He'd left Amad a note that he was staying with some friends, so she shouldn't worry too much if she couldn't find him.

So here he was, marching to fight a fierce battle, like a man. All around him was the smell of leather and metal, primed and ready for action. Everyone had mighty weapons strapped to their backs or held in their hands, their expressions focused on the enemy they were marching to. No one even seemed to care Gimli was a head shorter than everyone. And thanks to his helmet no one could see his face, so his lack of a bushy adult beard would stay his little secret.

His plan was fool-proof.

Gimli took a deep breath and grinned. This was his best idea yet.

This might not have been such a great idea. Don't get him wrong, he wanted to be a mighty warrior with all his heart, he did. But this wasn't how he'd pictured real battle. He'd imagined it as honourable combat. That each dwarf would have a worthy opponent, and would defeat him among cheers and cries of glory. There would be blood, of course, dripping from his victorious weapon which would be presented proudly to the watching sky.

This looked much more... terrifying. It was one big melee of gushing blood and whirling weapons. He couldn't even make out individual dwarves, just one writhing mass of movement. And they were fighting with everything. Just smashing and hacking at any orc that was near, never concentrating too long on one opponent. Dwarves moved and switched between the beasts, never settling for just one and not even caring if someone dealt the finishing blow. As if the end result wasn't glory, just death.

There were shouts and screams. The clang of weapons and the thud of a blade or a club meeting flesh. There were groans of the wounded and the shrill screams of the orcs and goblins.

Gimli swallowed thickly. This wasn't how he'd imagined real battle to be. But he was already here, he had ran away from home for this. And no son of Gloin would be a coward. Gimli clenched his teeth and hefted his axe. He jumped into the terrifying fray and swung his axe at the nearest orc, chopping the ugly freak firmly in the knee.

The orc fell and a different dwarf smashed his mallet into its screaming gob. That's one down.

Twenty eight. Gimli had helped take out twenty eight orcs and goblins. He had also taken three down all by himself.

The battle had been going on for hours now. He was exhausted, covered in bruises and dirt and blood. He helped take down another and had to pause. His axe weighed so much more than before, the blade dragging on the ground and rocks as he forced his way forward. His helmet was making it too difficult to see at times, the metal pressed firmly against his temples. He had a headache and his knees were trembling.

He swung his axe and charged at an orc, chopping it firmly in the elbow. The orc screamed and punched him on the jaw, in an uppercut motion. The blow dislodged Gimli's helmet, practically ripping it off his head. Gimli stumbled back, his ears ringing painfully. He gasped for breath, and suddenly had no idea what his feet should be doing. His vision tunnelled and wavered and Gimli vomited.

Something slammed into his side and Gimli fell to his knees. He couldn't breathe, the deafening ringing was still there, and he suddenly couldn't remember how to _move_. At all.

A shadow fell on him, and Gimli managed to lift his head enough to see. The orc ripped Amad's axe from its arm and lifted it high, undoubtedly intending to smash it into Gimli's skull.

He was going to die now, wasn't he?

An arrow suddenly struck the orc in the throat. The monster stumbled back and dropped the axe, clutching at the thin arrow-shaft in its neck. A slender figure dressed in green rushed towards the orc and quickly dealt it three blows with a sword, the last one decapitating it.

Gimli slumped against the ground and could only watch. More green soldiers appeared, joining the battle around him and Gimli knew that he should get up too. The battle still raged on, he had no time for lying down. He blinked hard, which cleared his vision a little. He noticed Amad's axe not too far from him, and he forced his shaking hand to reach for it. His fingers, slick from mud and blood, slid against the handle a few times, but he eventually managed to grasp it. He took a deep breath and wished he hadn't because he vomited again.

He _hurt_. From his bleeding head to the broken ribs in his side, he hurt. But he stubbornly forced himself to move. He managed to get to his arms and knees, then tried his hardest to get his numb feet to cooperate. Suddenly hands grabbed him under the arms and swiftly hefted him upright.

Gimli's head pulsed with pain and he gagged. The world trembled and darkened, and Gimli could feel consciousness slipping away from him. The hands leaned him back slightly, and a face entered his shrinking line of vision. The last thing Gimli saw were pointed ears and confused blue eyes.

Legolas would be the first to admit he didn't know much about dwarves, but he knew enough to recognize someone too young to draw a bow properly. The creature he was holding was smaller than any Warrior Dwarf Legolas had ever seen and it didn't even have a beard. There was barely any stubble, in fact. This was a child.

The nerve of these dwarves, sending children into battle.

He pursed his lips angrily and hoisted the child more firmly into his arms.

"Drive them back!" He yelled to his troops and took off running in the opposite direction of the fighting. He easily evaded most of the fray, quickly slaying the few goblins that had gotten through the established 'safe zone' perimeter.

Once he entered the dwarven camp, it took him but a moment to figure out where the healing tents were. He marched towards them, the child's body laying limply in his grasp.

At least it was alive. And somehow hadn't even let of its axe.

"Elf!" One of the guards noticed him and hefted his spear at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Decency brings me." Legolas spat and tossed the dwarfling at the second guard. "Only uncivilised beasts send _children_ to die." He hissed.

"Our children are safe at home!" The first guard snarled, growling a curse in Khuzdul at him. But the second shifted his hold so that he could see the dwarfling's face. He almost dropped the child in shock.

"What- how- when-" He sputtered, shocked, and the first one glanced towards him. He promptly dropped his spear.

"Where did you find him?!" He demanded, checking the child's pulse-points.

"In the battle, dying." Legolas sneered,and turned on his heel. Behind him, the dwarves were calling both for him to stop and for healers to come care for the child. Legolas ignored the noise, and hurried out of the camp, returning into the fray. He located his troops and led them towards the south end of the battle melee.

He pushed the thoughts of the dwarfling out of his mind.

Legolas's horse was startled when an axe embedded itself on the path in front of them. Within less than a heartbeat his troops all had their bows drawn and aimed at the incoming threat.

Which had the form of the young dwarf from before.

Legolas lowered his bow and signalled to his troops to do the same. He swiftly jumped off the horse and yanked the axe out of the ground (it was embedded quite firmly).

"I won't be long." he informed Tauriel, then marched towards the dwarfling.

He stopped before the child, and gave him a flat look. "I am sure there is a viable explanation as to why you attacked my horse with an axe." he stated.

The dwarfling blushed slightly, but his expression remained stubborn. "You cannot leave yet!" He said loudly, placing his fists on his hips. "I must tell you something."

"Then speak." Legolas ordered in a dry tone.

The dwarfling flushed and glanced to the side briefly. He relaxed his tense posture and wrapped his arms around his chest. He rubbed at his shoulder and shuffled his feet, and for a second time Legolas saw how young he was.

"Thank you." The dwarfling said quietly, looking up at Legolas with sincere eyes. "Thank you for saving my life."

Legolas blinked, surprised. He had not expected any thanks from the dwarves, truth be told. "You are welcome, young dwarf." Legolas bowed his head, accepting the gratitude. "It is not everyday that one is given the opportunity to rescue a foolish child playing at being a soldier in the middle of a battlefield."

The dwarfling threw him a baleful glare. "Don't you start as well. My parents have yelled at me enough already. First thing Amad did when she arrived was to yell herself hoarse."

The corned of Legolas's mouth quirked in amusement.

"And Amad already said I won't be allowed to attend warrior training any more, which is utterly unfair."

Legolas's brows knitted slightly. "Warrior training?"

"Amad claims it has given me an unrealistic image of war and that is why I concocted this 'whole escapade'." The dwarfling huffed, crossing his arms petulantly. "She's treating me as if I've been brained by my own hammer."

Legolas assumed that might be a dwarvish idiom meaning 'foolish'. But that only confused him more. This was a child, a young child that had experienced deadly battle and war on its own skin. Legolas had seen him so battered, so small that he had been barely able to lift himself off the ground. That had been a mere two days ago. Yet now this same child stood before him, bruised but strubborn, flinging axes and grousing about not being allowed further warrior training. Legolas could see the bandages wrapped around his torso through his too large tunic, could smell the healing salves. Yet this child stood firm and unflinching, eyes bright and strong. There was no fear in this child, even after what he had witnessed.

There is much to say about the perseverance of dwarves.

Legolas knelt down and placed the axe into the dwarfling's hands. "The battlefield is no place for a child." The dwarfling scowled and Legolas allowed himself a small smile. "So grow like the mighty oak and be as difficult to cut down as its trunk."

"I think you are wishing me well." The dwarfling said with an unsure expression, then grinned suddenly. "May the mines of your life never collapse and forever be plentiful."

Legolas inclined his head and stood. "Return home now, dwarfling. I must return to mine now." He cocked his head to the side. "And I do believe your absence has been noticed."

"I know, I can hear my parents searching for me." The dwarfling stood straight and thumped his chest with his closed fist, wincing slightly. "Farewell, Master Elf. May we cross weapons again."

Legolas blinked at the goodbye, pushing down a surprised laugh. "Farewell, Master Dwarf. May our paths lead to the same forests."

The dwarfling laughed, the ends of his scant moustache dancing with the sound. Then he turned around and sprinted back towards the mountain, seemingly paying no mind to his injuries.

Legolas shook his head at the retreating figure, then returned to his troops. He mounted his horse and told it to go, the other elves following behind. A few minutes later Tauriel guided her horse to walk next to his.

"So, Legolas." She began conversationally, her eyes twinkling teasingly. "You made a new friend."

"He's rather diminutive for a friend, I would say." Legolas said dismissively.

Tauriel pursed her lips, but wouldn't let up. "What's his name?"

"I didn't care to ask." He replied, giving her a pointed look. Her face smoothed out into disappointed neutrality and she returned to her position behind him.

Legolas rode on and stubbornly did not think about his encounter. But as much as he tried over the passing years, that young dwarf that stood so tall never did quite leave his thoughts. Six decades later, he met the dwarfling again and finally learned his name.

End

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**AN: Written for a kink meme prompt:**

I'm not sure what the canon is about Gimli being at the BoFA, but presume that: 1) Gimli was considered far, far too young both for the quest and for the battle 2) he disguised himself and went with Dain's folk anyway  
At the BoFA, Legolas rescues an injured young dwarf in the heat of battle. At the Council of Elrond, Gimli doesn't remember Legolas, and Legolas doesn't recognise a far more grown Gimli. Gloin, on the other hand, remembers all of it.  
Overly Detailed Bonus: not knowing Gimli tricked his way into coming, Legolas thinks it's terrible they're letting such children fight - more so when he sees what happened to the young princes, and returns him to his people with a furious demand that they take better care of their little ones (that Gimli overhears and does eventually remember)


End file.

Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, Adventure, Hurt-Comfort